Snape out of it 2
By Flittermouse
DISCLAIMER:
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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Hermione was anxious about her detention with Snape. Of course she *had* to be anxious, if she was deliriously happy you'd wonder if she was mad or a Mary Sue whose American street slang somehow melts the icy peak of Mount Snape, but no, this was straight forward 'car mechanic' Hermione and she was anxious.
She did not quite know what to expect when Snape told her to bring a change of clothes to detention, so she decided to bring her wand and read up on self-defense spells – just in case.
"Archoo!" She sneezed as Crookshanks swiped his bushy tail into her face and deposited a years worth of cat dander up her nose. "No, you can't come with me," she scolded her cat as he cat followed her across the room to the door. "No." she repeated as her cat deposited himself before the door and began his own mini sit in. "You're making me late."
'Late!'
Hermione felt her stomach plummet. She would have to throw herself down the swinging staircases to get to the dungeon on time! Stepping over her cat she tried to bolt from the room, but Crookshanks had move from his stance of passive resistance to overt clinging, wailing devil cat of death.
"Get off me Crooks! It's won't be that bad. It's only detention" Hermione unthorned herself of ginger tom and threw him onto her bed. 'Really anyone would think Professor Snape were a threat to your territory.' She thought, opening the door, she turned back and shrugged, "He's not a cat, you know?"
No, he wasn't a cat, but he owned one. A dark, shiny, four wheeled one with an engine that purred like thunder over the mountains: like a night spent in velvet, deep, black and sexy…
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The closer she got to the dungeons the more redolent the air became with the smell of oil and petrol. When she entered the Potions classroom she was surprised to find it empty. She looked about and found a notice on the blackboard, there in the small spidery chalk tracks of Snape's writing was written: 'Two floors down, the room with chains.'
That plunging feeling returned to Hermione's stomach, but now descended to her knees…. And her heart began racing.
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There was something to be said for the purr of a well-tuned engine. It was that certain harmonic note that was almost religious. It certainly reduced Severus Snape to a semi-coherent state. Tibetan monks would have appreciated it. The mountains of the Himalayas could have rung with it… if the engine was going.
"Buggeration!" Snape tossed the spanner aside and rubbed his greasy hand on his coat. He jiggled the leads to the starter motor. "Turn over!" The stupid muggle device, however, was disrespectful of authority.
Hermione crept down the stairs, her heart now in residence in her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucer yet, still able to search the smoky, oily air. Her foot slid and she slipped on the slimy stair.
"Turn over!"
"Oooohhhh" She whimpered.
Snape's cold voice shot up the stairs. "You bastard!" The sound of chains and what sounded like the creaking of a rack screeched through the air.
This being a tense moment, it was made even tenser by a stray wind dashing down the dungeons and flickering all the flaming torches pitching the cramped stairwell into total darkness.
The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood at attention like tiny little soldiers and at the same moment all extraneous noise stopped and only the ticking, ticking, ticking of a young girl's heart could be heard bouncing off the stony walls.
"Mummy!." (she squeaked)
"I'll crank you over until you're bled dry!"
The world became suddenly a small point of white light… the steps were close and coming closer, a torch was just out of reach and then… Hermione tumbled down the last of the stairs and landed right before Professor Snape.
So she did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed hold of Snape's leg, hung on for dear life and wailed. "I promise to be good! I promise."
"What are you doing?"
Releasing the man's leg Hermione crawled backward and looked up at the Professor as he glared down at her. His cheek streaked with grease and his black hair shiny with oil.
"Hi…?" She meekly offered.
Although terrified, her mind raced with irrelevancies. 'God, his nostrils are huge! Does he need a license to fly that nose? His brain must be well ventilated.' While her rational mind was indulging in this inane, but highly entertaining monologue, her mouth (which had a direct connection to the right side of the brain and sigmoid colon) was spouting, "Don't kill me. You can't kill me, I will be missed. The Head Master is bound to notice! Oh, okay, maybe not, but McGonagall will… Madam Pince?…. Sprout? Flitwick?…. Mummy!"
"Silence!" Snape reached down and grabbed Hermione by the elbow jerking her to her feet. "You bought a change of clothes?"
Dumbly she nodded and noted that he had not let go of her arm, but was turning her about to face what only could be his heinous devices of torture.
She blinked…
"Is that?"
"Yes." Snape's hand dropped from her arm and he stepped toward what could only be- He swirled the canvas off the car's shiny body and twirled it away like a Matador's cape.
It was. "My car."
An honest-to-god, ton-and-a-half, green-so-dark-it's-black, Series One FHC E-Type Jag coupe!
Hermione gazed in awe and whispered, "3.8 or 4.2 litre?"
"How like a woman," Snape sneered, "always thinking of size and not the quality. In this case, Miss Granger." He flicked the hair from his face. "It really doesn't matter."
"Smaller?"
He nodded, "Faster."
"Handles?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her, as if her question was the height of audacity, "As smooth as silk."
"Oh my…" She looked from the exposed engine of the Jaguar to find Snape staring at her darkly. For a moment they considered each other in what could only be called 'fannish' bliss.
"May I?" She moved forward and ran a finger over the finish. She could almost feel the static run over her… the oil became sensual and the grease, ambrosia. "I'd like to-"
"Help? The whole purpose of your detention, Miss Granger, is to assist me in getting this cat purring again."
"Oh." Hermione's face went blank, as she thought about the implications behind those words. It could take days, weeks even, to repair whatever damage Snape had done to this car. She looked at the mess inside the engine bay and her heart started a happy Mexican jumping bean beat that sounded very much like: 'Squee! Squee! Squee!'
"Oh yes." She sighed hungrily, withdrawing her wand and transforming her clothes into overalls, "Yes, please."
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tbc